Hitman:Gretel and The Public Enemy
by W0rldIsY0urs
Summary: Right after Blood Money ends. Civilians worldwide learn 47 is not a legend. ICA loses its Queen to an assassination, with Diana taking her place a week later. A person under the alias Gretel stalks the bald killer, wanting retribution.
1. Money,Power,Repect

There are three things you can learn from crime films that deal with the mafia: To go far, you must have money, power and respect. Nina Ramirez learned this well from the grimness of life. But through it, she gained resplendency.

Possess a considerable large sum of money, allowing her to afford this Presidential suite. Power over the biggest assassination organization in history and respect from all the big players like the CIA MI6 and others. Nina, (or Majesty as her fellow members of the ICA call her) was lying on her master bed watching tv.

The news was blaring out to her, informing of a shooting at a funeral home, killing former FBI director Alexander Leland Cayne, his personal guards, a journalist named Rick Henderson and a priest. She smiled at this news.

Everything went according to plan as Diana said. It was time to call and congratulate her for fine work. She turned over and grabbed a phone from the table, typed in a few numbers and awaited an answer from the other end.

"Majesty?"

"Congratulations Diana on your superb work."

"Thanks. Most of our resources are back online and the ICA should be back to full power by this December."

"This is superb news. What of 47?"

"I'm not sure. It seems we've lost track of him."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It's plausible he's taken a break for a while."

"Or distrustful of the ICA . . . of me. That would be quite a blow in clients for a time majesty."

"Indeed. Oh, you don't need to call me majesty any more."

"Why's that?"

"I've moved you up to a member on the Board of Directors."

"That's . . . great and all. But I prefer my job as a contractor."

"Sadly, I don't give a damn. I need you up high with me. The others are barbaric, trying to take my place."

"Can we talk about this later? I'm late for my date."

"Fine. Don't think you can swindle your way out. Your closeness to 47 needs to be broken.

Nina hanged up the phone and got to her feet. A tan bath robe swept the floors as the tanned brunette moved over to her balcony, laying her head on the cool bar and humming an old Latin tune. She loved coming out here.

Made her feel godlike looking down at people who walked passed. To her, they were all peasants and she was the female monarch. Didn't care that employees and board members thought of her as a narcissistic bitch. They could go decompose in hell. Except Diana. She was different.

A woman for starters that knew the business well and could be trusted. There was a knock at her front door. She turned around happily, her room service had finally arrived. She walked over to the door, snapped the lock off and then the door pushed into her. She fell down hard onto the , knocking the wind out of the anorexic.

A lone figure stood infront of her, edging slowly forward and pointing a Silverballer at her. Nina couldn't believe who it was. A trusted member with an A-one track record, ready to gun her down. A painful lesson went into her mind: Money, power, and respect bring only death in the end.

The figure fired a shot off and she went limp.


	2. Past from the grave

It had been three and a half hours with Jerry suffering from a severe case of frustration, wanting to leave his job for the day. The nineteen-year-old was cleaning up room 103 previously rented by a bunch of partygoers.

It wasn't a pleasant experience. Not only was it messy, but the entire room would have to be redone to take away the monstrosity. Beverages covered the floors, staining carpet. Tables, chairs, plates, glasses, etc. all broken and opened condom packages scattered around.

This wasn't anything new to the Croatia Inn. Dealers, gang members and others come here as well every week day doing the same thing but bring more clutter.

Normally, three or more people would help Jerry with this disaster but since he pleaded "sick" for the past week, his boss made him do it alone as punishment.

That didn't sit well with him, but he kept the thoughts dormant since he needed the job. It was the only one near his household, paid his bills, rent, and toddler especially since momma decided to leave for stupid reasons.

He piled the final pieces of chairs and stools into garbage bags, sighing as he finally finished the disgusting kitchen and living room, leaving two rooms left. He grabbed an unused bag and moved into a corner bathroom next to the bedroom. From what he saw so far, the teenagers kept the bathroom clean.

He moved to the toilet, pushing up the cover and grimacing at the sight. An age-old puke aroma flared his nostrils, making him almost barf himself. The Caucasian dashed out, closing the door behind him. There was no way his boss could sway him into cleaning that . . . thing.

"How's da cleaning J for no pay?" A black man said, entering the room.

Jerry turned around, happy to hear the voice of his friend Rodney. The only worker here that brought humor to the grim co-workers.

"Some ol' bullshit chocolate."

Rodney laughed as they did their welcoming handshake. He pulled a small yellow parcel out of his pocket and showed it to Jerry.

"True dat'son. Eh man, I need you to take this package to a...., room 1 down the hall next to the EXIT sign a'ight?"

"If I do?"

"I clean up what is left."

He didn't have to hear anymore. A simple task with no cleaning of the muck in the toilet and whatever in the bedroom. He grabbed the package, noticing it was kinda heavy and walked out the room, taking a left turn. The hallway was somewhat long, narrow with chipped molding walls and creaky floorboards. This always bothered him. The manager of this Inn thought it was better to have the newest technology instead of repairing or replacing the necessities to keep the building in shape and giving workers low pay was a way of saying "your fault for living in this place." On the plus side for Jerry at least, stepping on the boards in certain formation's make good rhythms for him as he strolls along.

He stopped at room 1 about to knock before a thought came into his head. The package was pretty hefty and could possibly hold some well needed income. He wasn't one to commit thievery, but the idea of walking out of here with fifty large or more made his mouth drool.

The thought grew more likely as he noticed there was no return address on the parcel as most dealers did to ship drugs to one another. The door opened wide, revealing a bald man in his early 30s, dressed in a well-tailored suit.

This threw Jerry off balance. A man with good taste whose more than likely rich staying in a rundown Inn. He still had time to get away with the package, but he just stood there.

"That Mine?" The man asked, pointing towards the package.

"_Oh yeah. Sorry, blanked out." _

_Despite his craving to steal it, he handed over the package sighing. The blue-eyed man took it, turned around and closed the door behind him.47 heard what sounded like a bang to a wall before the white man treaded off. _

_He waited until he couldn't hear any footsteps before he dropped the package on a disgusting couch and dragged a body into the bathroom. The body weighed a lot, but his workouts every morning since his insurrection from Romania made him able to pick the obese man up and drop the corpse into tub. I_

_t was a local drug cartel leader named Joe Johnson, (The Jackal on the streets) that needed to be put down by a client for killing his son with tampered drugs. 47 followed Johnson's trail to this room, killing him twenty minutes ago with his handy fiber wire. _

_It was time to make this look like a suicide and go back to the states. He grabbed some rope, tossed it over a high pipe, wrapped a noose around the corpse's neck and heaved. He heard a nice crack of the neck as the body moved upward before tying a knot on a pipe to keep it in place. He walked out of the bathroom and grabbed the package. _

_It said only to an old friend on the front. 47 dumped the items inside on a table, revealing a bony hand with long fingernails with a ring. He looked awkwardly at it, thinking it was a sign for death to Joe. Great timing. He grabbed the hand, turning it over to look on the palm side. Words written in black ink sort of smudged was left on it._

"_Greetings Tobias. We meet again though on deadman's hand. Our father, -Meyer. I'm betting you don't believe this to be truehearted in anyway. No matter, you will see when you look at the ring . I see you are on a trip back to the states anyway so why not stop by Washington, D.C. and gather more truth. Go to the National Library of Congress on July 4__th__ and search for my favorite book Nineteen-eighty-four. Turn to page 47 and you receive a clue. How's that sound Tobias, becoming a detective for a while instead of a hitman?"_

_Gretel_

_His face filled with shock, a feeling he's never felt ever before as finished reading and took the ring off the finger. It held a red diamond shape rock with an insignia. The insignia of Dr. Otto Ort-Meyer, the creator of 47 and his deceased brethren. _

_He couldn't believe this. The thought of someone finding the lab in a cloistered area, retrieving the hand and ring of the creator and finding out that he was doing a hit in Croatia sounded absurd in all ways. He placed the ring back on the table feeling distraught and out of place. _

_He breathed in deep and exhaled, pushing his emotions out of him again. It was a technique he learned from the asylum as a defense mechanism in case a clone was getting weary of doing the kill. He had to know for sure. So, he packed up his supplies along with new ones, checked out and drove off to an airport._

_Across the street from the Inn stood more buildings of various sizes. One which had a figure standing on top looking through binoculars at 47 driving off smiling. He drew out a cellular device and texted that 47 was leaving. When he hit send, his phone activated a small bomb placed inside, incinerating him...._


End file.
